


Daughter of the Sun

by heylovely



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Pining, Number 8!Reader, Reader is Number 8, Romance, Smut, number 8 reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylovely/pseuds/heylovely
Summary: He was one of the unlucky ones. The ones that felt the heat of your fire and wanted to dance in it, to bathe in it. To feel the wrath of your white hot flame all over their skin.You had tried for years to deny yourselves, to deny the bond the two of you shared. Your collective trauma’s played a role in that bond, you knew it had, but there was always something deeper there, a palpable vibration that buzzed on a frequency much bigger than the two of you could fathom.You were born with a fire inside of you;  your flames, though mesmerizing, licked those who got too close. You harmed them. Hurt them. But he never shied away from your light. Not once. Not even when he had become wholly encompassed by your blaze did he so much as bat an eye.To most, you were havoc embodied. A beautiful carnage one breath away from setting the world on fire. But Diego Hargreeves was the moth that always seem to fly a little too close to your light, even when you had the potential to destroy him.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Reader, Diego Hargreeves/Reader
Comments: 37
Kudos: 135





	1. ONE | NUMBER EIGHT / THE MATCH

**Author's Note:**

> here is the first chapter of something I thought of on a whim. this story takes place at the beginning of season 2 (spoilers) with an established (the story will obv delve into this) mutual pining sort of situation between our boy and the reader. pleaaaase let me know how y’all like it. x

All the air escaped your lungs when you fell out of the sky and onto your tailbone as the world around you spun and spun. The pain that rippled up and down your spine was enough to temporarily blind you from the current shitstorm you’d managed to find yourself in, but as your eyes slowly adjusted to the world around you, and the pain in your tailbone ceased, panic gripped your chest.

You were in a dimly lit alleyway smack dab in the middle of a street you didn’t recognize in a town you did not know. Swallowing hard, you sprang up to your feet and called out for the very people you’d been standing beside only seconds prior.

“Diego?” _His_ name, as always, was the first one out of your mouth – but when you were met with a deafening silence that seized control of your emotions, the others’ names followed. “Klaus? Allison? Five?” Running to the end of the alleyway, you took in the unfamiliar surroundings and frowned. “Vanya? Luther?”

Glancing around the desolate streets around you, you couldn’t help but feel terrified as you took in the unfamiliar scene. This didn’t feel right. The storefronts were old, its displays were so far out of the realm of the twenty-first century that you almost laughed. _Almost._ The few people that were still walking the streets weren’t adorning the typical streetwear one might see in any metropolis back home but rather looked as though they stepped out of an episode of _Leave It To Beaver_. One man in particular wore a tweed three-piece suit and brown fedora as he hopped into an old looking Ford truck. Only the car didn’t appear to be old at all. The paint was brand new, the finishing’s were impeccable. Back home, a car like that would be carefully parked away from the prying eyes of society in fear of having a remodel the likes of that one be damaged. But this man? _That_ car? Was just like every other one lined up along the street.

Had you landed on a movie set? You couldn’t imagine trying to explain yourself to some creative Hollywood type without sounding insane. Only the longer you continued down the street, the more and more you found yourself wishing that it was the set of a movie because at least you’d still be in your own time.

Your nerves got the better of you as you approached a nearby newspaper stand with bated breath. _Please, please, please say two-thousand-and-nineteen_ , you silently pleaded. But as your eyes scraped over the expanse of the paper and took in not only the date but the city, your stomach fell to the ground.

_March 1961, Dallas, Texas_.

“ _No,_ ” you choked, flipping through the paper in hopes that you’d read it wrong. You hadn’t, however, and as the newspaper fell to the cold, hard ground at your feet, you could feel your knees buckle as the weight of your current situation made itself known. You steadied yourself on the wall before you until you were sitting with your head between your knees beside the very paper that made your world spin off of its axis.

You were lost in time.

What did that mean for your family? Were you all scattered throughout the time and space continuum? Were they in danger? Were _you_? Reaching into your pocket, your fingers curled around the familiar bottle of pills you kept with you at all time. Slinking it out of the pocket of your leather jacket – something that you evidently needed to change out of if you had any hope of blending into this god-forsaken situation – you eyed the remaining pills you had in the bottle and swore under your breath.

Only four Diazepam remained.

Throwing your head back against the solid brick wall, you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to calm yourself down without the help of your meds. You’d been taking the narcotic for nearly your entire adult life to better aid your nerves and, for the most part, you’d grown to rely on them to control the ever-burning ember in your belly.

They helped douse the spark that was ever burning in the pit of your stomach. The fire within you, the one you’d fought your entire adult life to supress, thrived when your emotions got the better of you. When you were angry, that venomous flame tickled beneath your skin. When you were sad, the inferno inside of your chest roared to life and escaped through your fingertips as your body fought for control. When you were scared, however, well that was when the fire seemed to win. It switched on like a defense mechanism and ignited your entire body in its heat. For a time, your father – the bastard that he was – would often poke the bear. He would anger you, scare you, he would lock you in a dark cellar until you could light the way out.

He pushed, and he pushed, and he pushed until one day, when you were sixteen years old, that fire-demon inside of you that he’d awoken time and time again, finally won. It was meant to be an easy enough mission for the likes of The Umbrella Academy. In and out. Stop a kidnapping ring on the south side of the city, be home in time for one of mom’s infamous dinners.

But things hadn’t gone according to plan. The group was bigger than your father had accounted for and they had been expecting a fight. All around you, you could hear the screams and the cries of your siblings as the bad men won. You had been in an area of the building with Ben, fighting your way through the angry crowds in hopes of finding the rest of your family. The pair of you had been keeping up for the most part, but when a particularly large man grabbed you by the throat, any hope in hell of surviving the mission became moot.

You could feel Ben trying to beat the man off of you, but Ben was too kind to harness his power, no matter how imposing the other side of the playing field was. He was mild-mannered and kind, the kindest of any of you, by far. Over time, his power had become his curse. An ugly monster sprouted in your brother’s kind heart and no matter how many times he was pushed to unleash the hellmouth inside of him, time and time again, he hesitated.

You, on the other hand, didn’t. _Couldn’t._

As the man’s vice-like grip on your neck tightened, the world around you began to spin out of control. You could feel your body kick into overdrive, feel the embers in your stomach begin to spark and ignite. You’d never been that scared before. You were close to death’s door, that much you knew, and as your body – your powers – fought for survival, you could remember meeting Ben’s face from across the room.

He looked oddly at peace as realization slowly dawned on him. And as your skin began to burn and your hands began to quiver, you swore that Ben smiled ever so slightly before the ticking time bomb inside of you went off.

In a blink, the man’s arms around your throat singed to charcoal as the room around you went up in flames. Screams and cries of agony swirled around you as you stood at the helm of the carnage. You screamed for Ben as exhaustion ebbed away at your chest, but the longer you searched amidst the rubble, burning every inch of your body as you threw it to the side, board by board, the less hopeful you became.

Until finally, you found him.

He was barely clinging to life as you held him against your chest, sobbing and pleading and screaming at him to hang on. You needed him to hang on. Ben was the Hargreeves that was destined for great things. He was the one sibling who could have made something with himself; risen above the tirade of your father and forged his own path.

But _you’d_ taken that path away. You’d taken any semblance of a chance Ben Hargreeves had at a life outside of The Umbrella Academy.

You’d killed him.

The rest of your siblings had found you sometime after that. The building around you had burned to a shadowy remain, but in the midst of the twisted metal and scorched ruin, there you sat; cradling Ben, protecting his body from anything and everything around you.

It was sometime after that, somewhere after burying your brother, that you left the Academy. You had nowhere to go, no actual money to _your_ name – only that of which was tied to your father’s – but you ran and ran until the legacy of that goddamn academy was a horrific, distant memory in the back of your mind.

It took years to come to terms with the rest of your family. Your siblings should have hated you, resented you for killing Ben – and maybe, for a time, they did – but it was on your twenty-third birthday that Klaus tracked you down and made you listen to Ben’s side of the story. He hadn’t been afraid that night, rather relieved in a sad way. The two – three – of you spoke for hours that night and rang in your birthday’s very drunk whilst crying into a shitty bottle of tequila as Dirty Dancing played on in the background.

Shortly after that, Diego had come back into your life.

The first few months of trying to patch an open wound as deep as accidentally killing one of your own siblings was a long and tumultuous time. He resented you and, in turn, you lashed out at him. The two of you butt heads at every corner and clashed in all walks of life. He had a temper, one he expressed through various means such as knife-wielding and shitty vigilante work whilst your temper ignited a literal fire inside of you, threatening to harm anyone in its path.

Your name might have been The Match, good ol’ number eight, but in every sense of the word, Diego was that match that _always_ seemed to trigger you. He knew how to get under your skin, he knew how to act so utterly despicable at times that you felt that white hot coal begin to fester beneath your skin. He knew how to rile you up, how to make you see red from just how outrageously angry he made you.

It was almost embarrassing that somewhere in between your rows and your endless arguing that you’d fallen helplessly in love with Diego. Painfully so, if you were being honest.

And he, as he drunkenly admitted one night in a crowded bar in New Orleans, loved you right back.

It was messy and complicated and beautiful and cathartic to spend your nights holed up in a shitty motel room with a man you’d known your entire life. There was no awkward small-talk, no getting-to-know you dates, no impossible expectations. He knew you, from the inside out, and you knew him. You knew each other’s traumas, having lived them out side-by-side, and you knew each other’s limits – even if the pair of you thrived on pushing them just enough to spark a reaction out of the other.

By all standards, it was taboo. You weren’t blood related, but you’d grown up in the same house as a family. An extremely dysfunctional family, granted, but a family no less. And whatever line you’d both managed to cross falling into bed with one another night after night was one neither of you were willing to talk about come morning.

For two years, that went on. And, in those two years, the Diazepam usually burning a hole in your purse fell to the wayside. For the first time, in a _long_ time, you had control of your power without the help of the narcotic. The night’s you joined Diego on one of his many vigilante runs were as useful to you as they were for society. You could focus on your fighting, your combative training, rather than the beast inside of you.

Until, one day, that beast won over yet again when Diego introduced you to Eudora Patch. You wanted to dislike her, to stake your claim on the man you loved so deeply, but you couldn’t. She was lovely and sweet, and she could kick Diego’s ass – an obvious kink of his, given his affinity with you. She was perfect for him. And, as he spent more and more time with her and less time with you, you slowly came to terms with their match.

He was happy. So, you vowed to yourself to be happy for him.

So, one night whilst drunk as a skunk, you ended up bringing a random degenerate from the local bar back to your motel room to have your way with him in a weak attempt to feel better about your sad state of affairs where your love life was concerned. The sex was fine, mediocre at best, if you were honest, but picturing Diego rather than the haggard man you’d been straddling helped. You pictured Diego’s tongue running along your neck, suckling at your earlobe as his calloused hands trailed all over your body.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the idea of Diego so much that when the man got a little rowdy, got a little _too_ rough for your liking, your senses kicked into overdrive. This wasn’t Diego and, as he attempted to take control of a situation you’d lost interest in entirely, that niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach began to surface. Your skin grew hot, your hands trembled, and when that cinder inside of you sparked to life, you knew what was coming.

The man was dead before he hit the floor. Cooked from the inside out no thanks to the power surge that had shot out of your open palm, directly into his chest. Images of that night with Ben flooded through your mind as you collapsed to the ground, disgusted by what you’d just done.

When you managed to talk yourself down a few hours later, you punched in Diego’s number and groaned when he picked up on the third ring. “I need your help with a body,” you’d said, burying your head into your hand.

“What kind of help?” He’d asked.

Glancing across at the dead man, you frowned. “The disposing kind.”

In typical Diego fashion, he was there within the hour looking every bit as concerned as he did confused. With one look over your shoulder, he spotted the dead man and, as he put two-and-two together in his head, something new crossed over his face.

Anger.

“Did he hurt you?” He had asked, stepping into the room. When you didn’t answer right away, those sharp brown eyes were dialled in on you and you alone. “Y/N,” he snapped, “did he hurt you?”

Your eyes were glued to the man’s lifeless body. “Does it matter?” You had muttered. “I killed him, Diego. _I_ hurt _him_.”

“No,” Diego had turned to face you in that instance, “that’s bull-shit and you know it. If he hurt you, the fucker deserved whatever he got.”

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you ran a shaky hand through your hair. “And if he hadn’t hurt me?” Your watery eyes caught his. “If it had been a good guy? If I’d been on a date with a genuinely nice guy and just…lost it somehow – what then? What if one day I’m just walking down the street and this happens out of the blue? What if I make a habit out of doing this to people?” Your chin trembled. “What if I do it to you? Or Klaus? Or any of you? Ben didn’t stand a chance when I—”

“Ben was an accident, Y/N.” He stepped towards you. For a man that knew exactly what you had been capable of when your emotions got the better of you, it was a dumb move on his part. “It won’t happen. Not again.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” he had told you, “I know _you_.”

Your emotions were everywhere as he reached out for your hand, but when you met him halfway, that intensity inside of your chest was still too hot. Too powerful to simply just yield to the exhaustion withering away inside of you. The second his hand met yours, a loud hiss tore out of his lips as the heat of your hand burned him.

Your heart fell to your stomach as your eyes caught side of the red fingerprints – your fingerprints – marring his outer palm. Panicked eyes met his from across the room as you shoved your hands into the pocket of your jacket. Tears welled in your eyes as you gathered your things, leaving him in your dust. He’d tried to stop you from leaving, called out across the desolate lot until you were tucked away in your car where you left him to clean up your mess.

Was it selfish? Undoubtedly. But it was better that way. You couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t hurt the rest of your family, if you weren’t around to do so.

After that, your reliance on the medication came back. One pill managed to take away the edge, managed to keep the beast at bay long enough to carry on with the days and weeks and eventual years that followed. Eventually, Diego stopped trying to contact you. Klaus, on the other hand, still checked in whenever he was sober enough to formulate a plan to do so, but that was fine by you.

The less people around you that you genuinely cared for, the less likely you were to hurt them.

Meaningless sex became a sad companion that you clung to whenever you missed the company of another human being. You held down a few steady jobs over the years – each one as meaningless as the last – but you never stayed in one place too long. Lasting friendships, lasting relationships meant the very real chance of hurting anyone around you.

You were somewhere in the middle of North Dakota when you got the phone call that changed everything. Vanya was the one that had called you. Her meek, shy reserve echoed out across the line informing you that Reginald Hargreeves, _dear old dad_ , was dead.

At first, you had every intention of staying away. He was a lousy father, an even shittier man, and the world wasn’t going to weep over the loss of a monster the likes of Reginald. But a small part of you had convinced yourself that this was just another ploy by the man to ruin your lives again. Before you knew it, your curiosity got the better of you as you turned the car around to head home. You wanted to ensure he was really and truly dead – what you didn’t expect was to feel that likeness of family to feel so good after years and years spent away from each other.

There was fighting, naturally, as you and your siblings found your way with one another after a very long absence. But, over time, relationships began to mend. Hearts began to heal. And your feelings for Diego, the ones you’d never quite dealt with in the wake of your speedy escape, resurfaced like no tomorrow. The two of you _nearly_ kissed just hours before all of this. Just prior to going into that bowling alley, he’d pulled you aside, said how good it was to have you back, and just before his lips found yours, Klaus popped his head around like a giggling schoolgirl, ruining the moment entirely.

And now, here you were.

Stuck in nineteen-sixties southern USA with a raging headache, dwindling diazepam and no family to speak of.

In typical Hargreaves fashion, you’d all _royally_ shit the bed with this one.

Not quite trusting your legs to walk just yet, you remained glued to the ground as you thought of all the possible outcomes that could come of this. You were either going to get found out by someone and get tested on, maybe even sent to Roswell – as you were _fairly_ convinced that was a thing in the sixties – _or_ you were going to acclimatize to your surroundings. At least until you figured out how to get back to twenty-nineteen.

“Are you alright, miss?” Snapping your head to where the voice came from, you saw a young man with some sort of emblem on his shirt. He had a kind face and a hesitant smile but when you continued to stare at him without formalizing a conscious sentence, that smile slowly fell. “Miss?”

“I’m fine,” you breathed out, nodding your head. “Sorry, I was out for a run and felt dizzy. Thought I’d take a seat and just rest for a second.” You glanced down at your jeans, boots and leather jacket and grimaced. _Hell of an outfit to run in._

That kind smile was back as he stepped towards you, offering you his hand. “You need a ride home?”

Home, you were torn between laughing and crying at the mention of such a place. For years, you ran away from the idea of home and yet in the last few weeks, home was exactly where you found yourself. Home was Diego. Home was with your siblings. Home was the very people you’d managed to lose in your short spurt through time.

Not wanting to scare the poor kid, you scraped your eyes over the nametag on his shirt. Dave. Offering up a small smile, you allowed him to help you to your feet. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m just going to continue on with my walk.”

He seemed hesitant to just leave you on the street and why wouldn’t he? It was the sixties and you were a woman out late by yourself. “You sure? It’s no trouble.”

Pushing out a small smile, you shook your head and slid the pills back into your jacket pocket. “I’m sure. Thank you, though.”

He nodded and, after an awkward moment, continued on towards the car he’d been walking to before spotting you.

Huffing out a shaky breath, you walked to the end of the street and peered around your new surroundings. You didn’t know what the hell your next steps were going to be, but you hoped like hell that Five would pop in with some semblance of a plan – and soon – because there was _no_ was in hell you were going to live out the rest of your days in nineteen-sixty-one.


	2. TWO | HOMESICK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is chapter two of daughter of the sun. we get a little bit of Diego’s POV in this one and then our reader. once again, spoilers ahead.

_November 1963_

_Humour is good, truth is better_.

Those six little words had been playing on repeat in Diego’s head as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He fucking _hated_ that needle, hated the feeling it left him with when he slowly came back to reality. It left him in a fog, one so deep and thick that coming out the other end was always tough. The raging headache it left him with, he could deal with, the memories that seemed to haunt him whilst under the influence of whatever drugs were in that syringe, he could not.

The memories that lived on in his head were so palpable in that time spent high as a kite. He could feel them, taste them. They were almost tangible in that sense. And each and every time he awoke from them, he was left feeling sick.

Homesick.

For _you_.

You were so real in his mind’s eye. He could smell your shampoo – that tantalizing mix of citrus and sandalwood that he knew so well – he could feel your skin, taste your lips, feel every inch of you all over him in every sense of the word. They were all the good memories, too. Never the bad. They were the lazy mornings spent in a shitty old motel room, they were the secretive smiles and indolent kisses. In reality, those times were brief, so few and so far between it was almost cruel, but in his head, those memories were expansive. He could take his time counting each and every beauty mark along your body. He could kiss that small little smile on your face – the one that made your nose wrinkle – and relish in the sound of your laughter as he pulled you onto his lap.

You were so light in those memories, so radiant, that it was hard to believe they were real. Somewhere in time, a time now long lost to him, you were _his_. Just how he’d managed that, he’d never understand.

But, for as blissful as those hours were, reliving the feeling of your body against his, it was when he woke up from it, snapped back to a reality too far gone from the one he was lost in only moments before, that made the experience heartbreaking.

Every time he woke up from that god forsaken high, he lost you all over again. And no matter how often it happened, how hard he tried to brace for it in his modulated state, it never got any easier.

No high was worth that kind of fall. The kind of fall that made his stomach drop to the floor and his heart feel as though it was going to jump out of his throat. It left him reeling and destroyed him time and time again.

Seventy-five days ago, he almost kissed you. Seventy-five days ago, you were _real_. You were attainable. You were _this_ close to him and now, as he woke up, bleary-eyed and sick, from the effects of the needle, Diego felt as though the sky was falling in on him all over again.

You _weren’t_ here.

And the longer he remained in that padded room, his hopes of finding you and the rest of his family dwindled day-by-day.

That was partially why he’d become so transfixed on stopping JFK’s assassination. Not only could he do some good, a whole hell of a ton of good, but he could distract himself from the very real possibility of never seeing his family again. Were you all scattered through time? Were you dead? His thoughts plagued him, haunted him, every single moment of the day.

But then, out of thin air, Five appeared.

And with him, _hope_.

The smallest semblance of hope that, if Five managed to get there, the rest of you could follow. But, not leaving it up to chance, tonight, Diego was going to do something about it.

He was getting out of there.

An anguished groan ripped out of his throat as he rolled to the side. His arms were strapped behind him, murdering the joints of his shoulders as he trundled into a seated position. He needed to be fast in a situation as dire as this one, but he was drug-addled and sore. The weight of the pen still tucked away in his pocket was a constant reminder of his plan, a quiet hum of reassurance as he tried to focus on the floor in hopes that the room would stop spinning.

After a few seconds, by the grace of god, it did. And as he slowly, again _much_ too slowly for his liking, got to his feet, he worked on maneuvering the straps of the straight jacket to the front of his body. Between the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder and his drowsiness, the task did not come as easily as he hoped it might. But, somewhere between the fog and the immobility of his joints, Diego managed to shrug off the straight jacket and toss it to the ground.

For a moment, he allowed himself to gather his bearings as he fell against the padded wall. His eyes were squeezed shut as his dept hands tinkered with the pen. He just needed a second to rest, just a moment to himself before his escape. Breathing in a few even breaths, Diego’s brown eyes slowly opened only to focus in on the familiar scar that marred his palm.

Fingerprints. _Your_ fingerprints.

He’d played that night over in his head a thousand times in the years that followed it. From the time you were kids, he’d seen your power firsthand. Seen the dangers of it, marvelled in the beauty of it. But that was the first time that he felt the heat of your flame on his skin. You hadn’t intended to hurt him that night and, from what he recalled, it was a dumb move on his part to reach for you while your emotions were running as high as they were, but all the same it had happened.

You were permanently etched onto his skin like a tattoo from that moment on.

In his haze, the corners of Diego’s lips pulled up as he lazily tucked the pen between his lips in order to fit his own larger hand on top of your markings. Where _were_ you right now? Were you OK? Were you hurt? Wherever you were, he was going to find you. One way or another.

And the best way to start was escaping out of the hellhole he was currently holed up in.

So, taking in one last breath, he got to work on picking the lock of the paddock. Tonight, he was getting the hell out of there. He was going to stop Kennedy’s assassination. He was going to kick Lee Harvey Oswald’s ass and, no matter what, he was going to find his family.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Can you keep a secret?”

Fixing your lipstick in the mirror, you tore your eyes away from the task at hand to peer at your friend and co-worker, Cindy. With a small smirk, you casually shrugged your shoulders and laughed. _If she only knew just how good you were._ “Sure,” you told her, “what is it?”

The bubbly brunette to your left seemed to mull over her next few words as her doe-like brown eyes nervously looked towards the door of the changeroom. “I’m thinking of bolting tonight,” she confessed, latching onto your arm excitedly. “For good, this time.”

Cindy had talked about leaving Dallas for months now and, truth be told, you had been tempted to join her. She had been a good friend, your only _true_ friend since landing in the city. Two and a half _long_ years had since gone by since that fateful night in the alleyway. Two and a half years without so much as a peep from your family. A part of you had given up hope, a rather _large_ part of you, if you were being honest, and yet no matter how many opportunities came up to finally up and leave Dallas, there you remained.

In your mind, if you _did_ leave, surely _that_ would be the day one of them would come through looking for you. At least that’s what you told yourself. _Over and over and over again_. It was a sad, unrealistic comfort that you granted yourself in a world that tore every ounce of comfort you once held near and dear away from you.

Managing a small smile, you focused back on Cindy’s hopeful stare. “Where would you go?”

That was when Cindy’s excitable smile morphed into an all-out grin. “A girlfriend of mine has been talking to me about this guy she met while travelling somewhere out west,” she chuckled. “It’s silly, but from what she tells me this guy is just groovy _._ He’s the real deal, ya know?” Cindy grabbed for her own lipstick and smeared on a few coats. “So, she finally convinced me to go out there and join them.”

You blinked in confusion. “Join who?”

She beamed across at you. “Destiny’s Children.”

Your movements stilled as the name rolled off of her tongue. _Beyonce’s Destiny’s Child?_ There was no way. Sure, history was never your best subject, but, surely, you’d remember hearing that Queen Bey had stolen her once beloved band name from something that happened in the sixties? Looking across at the brunette, you hoped your face didn’t convey just how confused you felt in that instance. “Is that…a band?”

“A Band?” Cindy burst out laughing. “I mean, _sure_ , in a way we’re like a band. A band of free individuals who love together and travel the world and just…live our lives in its most natural form.”

 _“_ Ah,” you mumbled as you began to apply your mascara, “so, it’s a cult.”

Cindy smacked your arm with a laugh. “That’s a harsh name for it. It’s more like…a _movement_.”

 _Definitely a cult_. Foregoing your mascara application, you focused your attention back on your friend as you chewed on your lip. Cult-like behaviour in the sixties was _not_ something that boded well where you came from. Was this Manson’s cult? Is that what they’d called themselves once upon a time? Racking your brain for an answer you knew would not come, you thought over your next few words carefully. You didn’t want to insult the girl but, knowing Charles Manson’s true motives, you thought better than to simply bite your tongue.

“Listen, Cindy,” you began, “I get the allure of Manson might seem hot right now, but I promise you the guys is bad news. Like, _really_ bad news. He’s—”

“Manson?” Cindy asked. “Who’s he?”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ why did you not spend more time learning about history? “Uh,” you were at a loss for words. “He’s just not a good guy. Remember that.”

Cindy laughed off your behaviour and shrugged. “You’re wacky tonight, doll. Anyway, you should come with me.”

“No,” you scoffed, getting back to your mascara. “Not really my scene, Cin.”

A small, sad smile graced your friend’s lips. “Oh, and this is?” She made a show of looking around the dressing room before her brown eyes found yours. “Dancing for married rich guys?”

Your smile fell at the truthfulness of her words. Granted, when you’d envisioned your life once upon a time, becoming a high-end stripper for rich, entitled, white men was definitely not on your short list. But neither was being flung back in time to a decade that shat on women left, right, and center. You’d tried to get a job but, without any form of ID, not a single reference and not a penny to your name, you didn’t have the luxury of being picky. So, after pickpocketing your way through most of Dallas for an entire year, you decided to give dancing a shot. You were by no means graceful as a dancer, but after years of training at the academy, you were nimble and quick on your feet. And, as it turned out, a little hip sway here and there combined with go-go boots and barely-there lingerie, you were a hot commodity to be had.

“No,” you admitted, getting back to the mascara. “But at least I get paid to dance around nearly naked for these men. How much money would cult-boy pay me to do the same thing?”

“It’s not a cult,” she grumbled with a small smile, “but fine, suit yourself. I’ll send you a postcard along the way.”

“Y/N,” one of the other girls called out, poking her head into the room. “You’ve been requested.”

Your stomach fell at those words. Dancing might have paid the bills but _god_ you hated the clientele. Snivelling, rich, entitled white men who had no problem paying for a dance if it meant not having to go home to their wives. They made your skin crawl with their half-lidded gaze and creepy little smirk because you _knew_ this version of you, the one shimmying and dancing on their laps, would stick with them for weeks to come. You and the other women at the club played into their fantasy of having someone besides their poor wife pay them a shred of attention.

But, this was your job now. This was your life.

Pushing yourself off from the stool, you slinked off your satin robe and glanced at yourself in the mirror. The lingerie the club provided was slinky and barely-there. Majority of it was black lace that left _very_ little to the imagination while the rest of it was string. Easy to slip off if a high-paying client demanded it.

You prayed to anyone listening that whoever requested you was _not_ one of those clients. You weren’t in the mood to “dote” over an ugly man in an expensive suit. Heaving out a sigh, you walked out of the dressing room and into the club. Immediately, you were met with the hazy smog of cigarette smoke and the smell of expensive whiskey as you sauntered over to a table full of what you could only assume were business executives.

Smacking on a sultry smile to hide the disdain you so obviously felt, you fell into your natural rhythm of dancing on the men around the table. To your surprise, they were far too engrossed in the conversation they were having to pay you much mind, but thinking of those tips, you continued to dance. Every once in a while, one would beckon you onto their lap as they commiserated over liquor and business, but you blocked most of it out.

You’d gotten quite good at that over the years spent in Dallas, _especially_ doing this.

You treated this as a job and got paid as such. Sex work was still work and you’d be damned if you half-assed it and passed up on a tip big enough to feed you for the rest of the week.

Somewhere in between one of your dances, a particularly stout man with droopy blue eyes and a cleft chin reached out and grabbed your arm. His eyes were curious as they danced over that god forsaken umbrella shaped tattoo you’d gotten all those years back.

“Don’t see these things on too many women,” he chortled, “at least not on ones as pretty as you, baby.”

You hummed with feign amusement and gently yanked your arm back to continue your dance. The club owner, a slimy little man by the name of James, was adamant that the dancers were there to do just that: dance.

 _‘Words don’t pay your wages, ladies_ ,’ he’d said countless times before ‘ _your bodies do.’_

But the pig-faced man wasn’t done with your tattoo yet. “Donny, you see this?” He asked the man across from you. “Don’t this look like that building down on Olive Street? That big ol’ one with the umbrella on it.”

Your eyes snapped down to the man still gently grasping onto your arm. “What building?”

Seemingly surprised that you had the audacity to speak, the man blinked a few times. “Uh,” he fumbled over his words, “I don’t know what it’s called. But it’s got the same little umbrella on it as the one on your arm.”

Your heartbeat quickened as you took in the man’s words. You knew it was foolish to get your hopes up but, after almost three years of nothing, _this_ was the first lead you had. Could your father have been in Dallas in the sixties? Your father had always been a very powerful man, maybe whatever was in that building was something that could help you get back to where you belonged. Hell, maybe dear old Reginald was there in the flesh. Surely, _he_ could point you in the right direction – or _any_ direction, for that matter – even if he was a repulsive cock worm.

“On Olive Street?” You asked, engraving it to memory.

The man nodded and opened his mouth to speak but was no sooner interrupted by your boss. “I pay you to dance, sweet cheeks, not talk.” He growled. “My apologies, gentleman, next round is on me.”

You didn’t care about James’ tone as he ventured back towards the bar. And, for the first time since you started that damned job, you allowed the rest of the day to breeze by. Half-assed dancing and barely-there communication was how you spent the hours remaining in your shift. And when eight o-clock hit, you were changing out of your slinky lace get-up and into a thin black turtleneck, a plaid mini-skirt – a rather risqué move considering miniskirts of all things were as taboo as satan in these parts - and your beloved white go-go boots.

By eight-forty-two, you were saddled outside of the very building that housed that damned tattoo on your forearm: **D.S Umbrella Manufacturing**.

Swallowing back your nerves, you pushed yourself out of the front seat and took in the landscape of the building. It was stark and cold and impersonal. It just _screamed_ Reginald Hargreaves.

For the first time in nearly three years, there was an aspect of hope burning away inside of your belly as you dashed along the grey slabs of concrete lining the building. This _needed_ to work out. Something _needed_ to come of this because you weren’t sure how much longer you could go on pretending.

After almost three years, you were ready to go home.

 _Here goes nothing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a much needed reunion next x


	3. THREE | REUNIONS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wee little reunion in this one x

The inside of the building was just as stark and grey as it appeared on the outside, but it was the multiple rooms housing dead-eyed mannequins that made your skin crawl. There was a weird vibe in the building, a heaviness that seemed to follow you as you tiptoed along the dimly lit hallway. It was as though you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for _something_ to come for you. You _were_ smack dab in the middle of your father’s business which, if you knew Reginald Hargreeves, should have come with its own fair share of traps. So where were they? Breaking into the building, walking around as freely as you were, that wasn’t the Reginald you grew up with.

There wasn’t a careless bone in that man’s rigid body – so _why_ had nothing come for you yet?

Chewing on your lip, you continued to maneuver as quietly as you could throughout the building. Not a sound could be heard – sans for the gentle hum of what you could only assume was the building’s filtration system – but that didn’t mean you allowed yourself the luxury of letting your guard down. If Reginald had taught you and your siblings anything whilst enduring his never-ending tirade, it was to _never_ let your guard down. When your guard was down, that was when trouble would strike. So, minding every corner and holding your breath at every turn, you focused in on the task at hand.

You were here for answers. You were here in hopes of finding something that could be the key of getting you home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to find what appeared to be an office. Pushing the door open a little wider, you grimaced at the shrill _squeeeeeek_ its rusted hinges gave out and held your breath as you waited for the inevitable. Guard dogs? Some type of laser security? A lousy guard? But when nothing but silence followed the commotion, your suspicions only grew.

This wasn’t right.

Walking into the room, your steps became a little louder than they had been only seconds prior. And, as you pushed around some folders on his desk – each one lined with a thick layer of dust – you cursed quietly beneath your breath. It was a façade. This entire office, possibly the entire building, was nothing more than a cover.

But a cover for _what_?

Tossing a few manila file folders to the side, you searched and searched for _anything_ your father could have left behind but when your search continually came up empty, your frustration only grew. Heaving out a sigh, you allowed the folder to join the rest of the abandoned heap before throwing your head back to peer up at the ceiling.

Another dead end.

Discouraged tears burned behind your eyes but, like every dead end before this, you blinked them back and focused in on the big picture. You weren’t sure how or when, but you _would_ get home one of these days. You had to believe it. Living out the rest of your days smack dab in the middle of the sixties was _not_ in your cards. You refused to believe that it was. This was just another minor setback. Another minor setback on a very large pile of previous ones, but you wouldn’t focus on that right now. You couldn’t.

Right now, you needed to focus on the rest of the building in hopes that _something_ useful came out of the risky trip.

So, that’s exactly what you did. And, thirty minutes later, you were knee deep in another useless stack of papers. For the most part, each document was as useless as the last. There were bank documents, _lots_ of bank documents, a few piles of discarded invitations to various events around the country and a meticulously kept journal with even more bank records.

In other words, a whole lot of nothing. 

_Just_ when you were about to give up on the hunt, however, quiet footsteps were heard on the other side of the building. Your heart leapt into your throat as your movements stilled. _Someone_ was inside of the building with you.

Swallowing hard, you eyed your surroundings for a makeshift weapon on the off chance you needed it. Glowering across at the only suitable object within grabbing distance, you held your breath and unsheathed the tall, black umbrella from the nearby coat rack. _Of course it’s a goddamn umbrella_ , you thought bitterly as you tiptoed towards the source of the noise. You carefully popped your head into each mannequin-lined room until you were standing outside of the one room you hadn’t managed to look into yet.

Raising the umbrella above your head, wielding it like a bat, you reached your free hand out and hovered over the doorknob. You were relying on the element of surprise as your knuckles tightened on the brass knob, but all planning fell to the wayside when the sound of glass shattering sounded from the inside of the room.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw the door open only to catch what appeared to be a monkey jumping out of the stained-glass window as someone scrambled to their feet before you.

_No_ , not _someone_.

Five.

Your breath hitched and the umbrella you had been wielding only seconds earlier fell to the ground in a muted _thud._ You opened your mouth as the boy slowly got back up to his feet but any and all words died in your throat. Five was _here,_ standing only feet away from you. No words seemed suffice enough to utter in that instance.

“Y/N?” The utter confusion in Five’s voice was evident as he held a hand up to his neck. “How did you—”

A choked sob escaped through your lips as you rushed forward. Five seemed to stiffen, as though he was preparing for you to strike, but when all you did was usher him into a warm hug, you felt his body – albeit begrudgingly – surrender to your embrace.

“Since when do we hug?” He asked, his voice muffled by your hair. But then, ever so slowly, you felt his own arms tighten around your shoulders.

“Since now,” you sniffed, not yet letting go of your brother. “Oh my god, I’ve missed your stupid face so much.”

The two of you slowly pulled away and you watched, in mild amusement, as he fixed his jacket like the crotchety old man he was. “You _missed_ me?” He asked, his tone doubtful. “How long have you been here, Y/N?”

You allowed a hollow laugh to escape your lips as you wiped at your cheeks. You weren’t one to cry willy-nilly, but the happy tears that dampened your cheeks were more than welcome. You were just so happy to see a familiar face again. “Just over two and a half years, now.”

Five’s eyes widened at your little revelation. “Shit,” he looked down at his feet, “two and a half years?”

“When did you get here?” You asked. “Because I swear to god if you’ve been here as long as me and you’re still wearing that goddamn uniform, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Hilarious,” he bit back, “I landed a couple days ago.”

“Jesus,” you whispered, “what about the others?”

He glanced over your shoulder, vaguely gesturing down the hall. “I’ve managed to find Luther and Diego. No one else yet.”

The air was knocked out of your lungs at the mention of _his_ name. “Are they here, too?”

Seemingly more focused in on the wound beneath his hand, Five missed the hopeful edge to your tone. “Diego is,” he said, “in typical Luther fashion, he chooses to ignore facts and wants nothing to do with any of this.”

Your mind was still reeling at the fact that Diego was close, but, rather than dwell on it knowing it was neither the time nor place, you focused in on the latter half of his statement. “Any of what?”

He looked at you. “Why, the apocalypse, of course,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t be a Hargreeves reunion without one.”

You furrowed your brow. “That doesn’t happen for another sixty or so years.”

Five shot you a sarcastic smile. “It followed us to nineteen-sixty-three.”

“Fuck,” you leaned against the nearest desk and frowned. “Another one? Are you sure?”

Joining you, Five stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Only reason I’m here right now is because Hazel gave up his life to give me a case to bounce back a few days.”

“Shit,” you mused, “how long do we have to stop this one?”

“Eight days,” Five hummed. “Eight days to figure out what the hell causes _this_ one and try to stop it.”

An uneasy silence followed his words as you allowed them to sink in. _Another goddamn apocalypse_? You’d heard of family curses in the past but being the sole cause and solution for not one, but two separate worldwide catastrophes was _karmic_ -level bad luck. “We did so well the first time around, too,” you joked, but the amusement in your voice was long gone. “I’m not liking our odds, Five.”

Five looked across at you and shook his head. “Neither am I. Especially with Allison, Klaus and Vanya still off the grid and the fact that Luther is…well, _Luther_.”

Another tense silence fell over the two of you as you took in the shattered glass. “Was that…?”

“Pogo,” Five nodded and pushed himself off of the desk, “little shit scratched me.”

You reached out to survey the damage but Five smacked your hand away and clicked his tongue. “Don’t get soft on me now,” he rolled his eyes. “Not when there’s shit to do. We should catch up with Diego. Something about this whole thing just feels off.”

_Diego._ The man that you’d been dreaming of since you were a teenager. The man whose body you once knew better than your own. It had been almost three years since you’d laid eyes on Diego. Felt his calloused hands brush across the apple of your cheek. Felt the heat of his eyes on your skin. It had been two years, nine months, and a handful of days since you’d last seen Diego Hargreeves. And knowing he was _this_ close, just a few hundred yards away, made your pace quicken and your hands tremble as you followed Five out the back door.

But something felt off. Something wasn’t right.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge as you rounded the final corner of the alleyway, but it was the body slumped over behind a stack of crates that made your blood run cold. That familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one you’d managed to tame in your time away from Diazepam and the twenty-first century, quelled to life as your legs carried you towards him.

His name ripped out of your throat as you fell to your knees beside him. A pool of blood gathered beneath him as you carefully turned him over to peer down at the gaping wound on his abdomen. Ripping the flaps of his shirt open, you wasted no time in applying pressure to the wound in hopes to slow the flow of it down. If he continued to lose this much blood… _well_ , you didn’t want to think of that just yet. You wouldn’t dare.

His eyes were hazy and half-lidded as he lulled his head towards you. You could tell he was trying to blink through the fog of his injury, to fully take in his surroundings as his body fought for survival. And then, ever so slowly, those warm brown eyes you loved so _damn_ much, seemed to focus in on you and you alone.

“Are you an angel?” He slurred, his voice laced with delirium. Tears, undoubtedly from the pain he was in as well as the shock of being shanked by the man he’d considered a father, gathered in the corners of his eyes as he slowly reached up to touch your face. “Am I dead?”

“No, shut up.” You snapped, gently bringing his hand down to ground level. “Focus on me, OK?” Looking up at Five, you could tell he was torn between going after the very man you’d all broken into the building to find and staying back to help Diego. Grinding your teeth together, you narrowed your eyes in on the boy and nearly growled. “Don’t you _dare_ chase after that bastard,” you warned, “not when your own brother is bleeding out on account of him.” After a moment’s hesitation, you watched the silent battle inside of Five’s head slowly come to a halt as he turned on his heel to jog back towards you and Diego. Releasing the breath you’d been holding on account of your brother’s initial indecision, you nodded in gratitude and gestured towards the car. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

Five shook his head. “Can’t. He technically just escaped from an asylum. If we put him in there, he’s not coming out.”

Your jaw dropped at Five’s mini revelation but, rather than focusing on the fact Diego had been serving time in a mental hospital, you buried your questions and tried not to focus on the blood spooling between your fingers. “Where are you two staying? My place is too far from here, he’d never make it.”

“It’s not far from here,” Five divulged. “Can you get him up?”

“Yeah,” letting out a tiny grunt, you managed to grab onto Diego’s head which had lulled back. “Hey,” you gently smacked his cheek which made his eyes open again. “I’m going to pull you up, OK? It’s going to hurt like hell, but I need you to stay with me.” If Diego heard you, he paid no mind. Simply just allowed his head to fall back yet again as his eyes teetered close. Looking across at Five, you nodded and quietly counted to three before hoisting him up into a standing position. An anguished cry slid through his parted lips as you and Five each swung an arm over your shoulders.

A set of footprints followed you out of the shadows and, as a pretty woman with large brown eyes appeared out of seemingly thin air, you hesitated for only a moment and tightened the grip you had on Diego’s arm.

“What happened to him?” The woman asked in a hushed British accent.

“Who are you?” You grunted, placing a hand on Diego’s chest to ensure he didn’t tip forward.

The woman’s eyes danced over the injured frame of Diego before landing on you. “Lila. A friend of his. Who are _you_?”

Feeling Diego’s weight get all the heavier as he slipped in and out of consciousness, you decided for the honest route as you continued on towards the car. “Y/N.”

“Holy shit _,_ ” Lila’s brown eyes grew three sizes, “you’re _real.”_

An annoyed groan sounded from Five. “Can we put a pin in this until we get him to Elliott’s?”

The drive to Elliott’s was by no means a long one, but as Diego continued to fight for consciousness, every bump and sharp turn made it feel unbearably long. Lila, whoever she was, ended up being the one behind the wheel as you tended to Diego’s wound in the backseat whilst Five glowered across at her from the passenger’s side. She was by no means a safe driver, not in the slightest. She cut corners, nearly collided into more cars than you were willing to count, _but_ she got you to Elliott’s – whoever Elliott was – in no time flat. Something you were beyond thankful for.

And, as she helped you carry him up the stairs of Elliott’s commercial sized loft and onto the worn couch, you focused in on the concerned pucker of her brows and nodded. “Thank you,” you managed out.

She looked back at you and shrugged. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for him. He’s my friend.”

Nodding, you began to search the room for anything that could help with his wound. “Well, if it’s all the same. Thank you for being _his_ friend, then. We could all use friends like you.”

A bemused snort came from Five as he eyed the woman in disdain. “My sister and I don’t share that same sentiment.” He simply said. “I don’t trust you.”

“Jesus, Five,” you muttered, tearing apart drawer after drawer. “Still as personable as ever, I see.”

“What are you looking for?” Five asked, seemingly unaffected by the limp body of his brother only feet away.

“Something to staunch the bleeding,” you explained. “I think it’s slowed down for the most part, but I don’t want to take any chances. We need to close the wound.”

Lila took a few willowy steps towards you. “We could cauterize it. I do love a good cauterization myself.”

“Colour me shocked,” Five rolled his eyes. “Loony tunes likes fire.”

You looked down at your hands conspiringly, ignoring the pair of them as they rambled off insult after insult at one another. In the years since you’d landed in Dallas, your _gifts_ had been put on the backburner. But there were nights, nights after a particularly shitty day full of men groping you from all angles and belittling comments, that you’d hole up in your apartment and release that fire. The first time resulted in a small kitchen fire – something your landlord was _not_ happy about – but, over time, you harnessed it.

_You_ controlled _it_. Not the other way around.

For the first time in years, you were in a good place with your supposed ‘gifts’. And, if they could be of use, especially right now with Diego’s condition worsening by the second, you were willing to work with that frail sense of security you’d felt whilst here in Dallas.

“She’s right,” you found yourself saying as you gently raised him off of the couch to slink his shirt off from his torso. “Cauterizing the wound will help.”

“Oh, goodie,” Lila skipped towards you and began to fiddle with the buttons of his jeans. “How exciting.”

“Uh,” you watched her yank the jeans down his legs. “I mean, he could have kept his pants on – but we’ve crossed that bridge already.” Grabbing a blanket off of the nearby chair, you draped it over his lap and clambered onto his legs. Straddling him, you glanced at Five and cleared your throat. “Um, this could get _messy_ ,” you tried to hint at what you were about to do in hopes he would catch on. “Maybe get Lila out of—”

“Relax,” Five rolled his eyes. “She’s already seen me jump. And, if she’s a spy, she already knows what you can do, anyway.”

Lila flipped Five the bird but appeared to be as cool as a cucumber. “So, you’re all freaks then? That it?”

“That’s the gist of it,” you mumbled. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on that little flame in the pit of your stomach. You were nervous, so you could feel its pulse inside of your every breath, feel the heat of its flame pumping through your every vein and across every inch of your skin. If you weren’t careful, you could trigger something much more primal inside of you to come to life. Coax the flames you’d managed to hide deep within you to the surface and burn the entire building to the ground.

But you wouldn’t. Not when Diego’s life was on the line. Not when Five, Lila, and a man who you could only assume was Elliott were within its trajectory.

So, you focused.

Focused on the ebb and flow of its flame until the familiar prickle could be felt along your palms. Like static noise bursting beneath the skin of your hand, you opened your palm out and allowed that fire to seep out of your fingertips where it festered like the cinders of a dying campfire. You didn’t need a ball of energy for this one, just fingertips hot enough to fuse the wound together.

Opening your eyes back up to the world around you, you focused in on Diego’s handsome face. His hair was much longer now, his face scruffy and tired from however long he’d been holed up in an asylum prior to tonight. Trailing your eyes down his exposed chest, you took in the wound just beneath his ribcage and, carefully, hovered your fingers above it. This was going to hurt like hell and, if you weren’t careful, the impact of it alone could send him into shock.

Slowly, you pinched the two flabs of his skin together and, as if on cue, a howl tore out of Diego’s lips as his skin slowly singed together. The veins in his neck swelled as he gasped for air but before he could buck you off of him, buck the unknown weight off of his lap – the very one causing him all of that pain – his brown eyes seemed to adjust to his surroundings long enough to focus in on you.

His pained expression slowly morphed into confusion, at first, and then utter amazement as he raked his eyes over every inch of your face. Your name floated from his lips in a soft, confused whisper but _god_ did you relish in the sound of it. It had been so long since you heard his voice, heard him say your name, that you nearly lost yourself in the sound of it.

“Try not to talk,” you pleaded, sick to your stomach at the smell of his flesh burning beneath your fingertips. “And don’t move.”

Never one to listen, even on death’s door, Diego shifted with you still straddling his lap. His eyes widened at just how close you felt. “Why am I naked?”

Your lips curled. “A question for your friend once you’ve healed up. That wasn’t my doing.”

He reached out to you as though to physically check to see if he was hallucinating or not. “How are you here? Where have you been? How did—”

“Diego,” you pushed. “Please, you need to stop talking. And sit still.”

“Fuck,” he fell back against the couch. “How did—” Another strangled cry sounded from his throat as you dug your finger into the wound just enough to ensure he passed out. Did you feel guilty about it? Without a question. But if you had any hope in hell at fixing him up until he was well enough to get up on his own, then that was the only solution.

Once pleased with your handiwork, you managed to climb off of his lap only to have Lila help you carry him towards the larger bedroom where he could rest fully sprawled out if need be.

“He spoke of you a lot,” Lila admitted as you sat on the edge of the bed in exhaustion. She was hovering by the door, seemingly unsure of her next few words as she took in Diego’s slumbering form. “Never in group. But when he’d sleep or when they’d drug him. He said your name as though it were a prayer.”

She turned and left the room after that, leaving you alone with Diego for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. For a while, you remained seated on the edge of the bed, unsure of your next move. Should you go out there and figure out what the _hell_ was happening with the impending apocalypse? Yes. Without a doubt.

Yet there you remained.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were climbing up the bed and tucking yourself against the expanse of his body as though he was the lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.

The apocalypse talk could wait a few more hours. Right here, watching Diego’s chest rise and fall with every breath he took, was the only place you needed to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I PROMISE the next chapter is the reunion we actually all want and need. some angst. some fluff - all the good stuff. PLEASE let me know if yall are liking it. x


	4. FOUR | MIRAGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE is our much needed reunion x

Sunlight streamed in through the open window of the bedroom, lighting up everything its path. Dust particles danced in its beams and bird song, undoubtedly from the large oak tree just outside, made the entire scene feel almost peaceful. Ethereal, even.

Of course, it was only made better when Diego’s tired brown eyes fluttered open and found _you_ sleeping peacefully beside him.

For the first few seconds, as his eyes acclimated to the world around him, Diego managed to convince himself that he was, in fact, dead. That he had succumbed to his injury and died somewhere in the middle of the night because there was _no_ way that the visions he’d seen whilst he was in and out of consciousness were real. How _could_ you have been real? The last time he’d seen you was just prior to jumping into that vortex almost three months prior so _how_ could you have turned up in the nick of time to help him after dear old dad sliced him open?

He was hesitant to reach out and touch you at first in fear of having this mirage disappear. Was this death? Was it a lucid dream? Had he even left the hospital at all or was this another one of his drug-addled dreams?

But, _no_ , this time felt different.

He could feel the pain radiating through him as he moved the slightest inch to the left to get a better look at you. He could feel the sheets beneath his fingertips and feel the heat of the sun on his exposed thigh. It all felt real enough.

And then, of course, there was you.

Sure, in his dreams you’d felt every bit as real as you looked there with your hair splayed out across the pillow. But _something_ was different. You looked a little different than what he’d always fell back on in his dream state – older, somehow – and there was a new scar on the apple of your cheek that he’d never seen before. It was small and crescent-shaped and, judging by the look of its pink sheen, it wasn’t new. Your hair was the same shade it always had been, just styled a little more with the times as were your clothes and those goddamn boots still laced up your silky calves.

If he _was_ dead, he’d died a happy man knowing that this was what was waiting on the other side for him.

Being careful not to further injure himself, Diego positioned himself a little closer to you so that the two of you were facing each other nose-to-nose. You were an inch away from him, but as far as he was concerned, it was an inch too far as he gently reached a trembling hand across the divide to cup your cheek.

Warmth pooled in his chest as he touched you. If this was a dream, he didn’t think he could face waking up from it. Not when _this_ one felt so real. He could smell your shampoo and feel your body heat radiating off of you. If he woke up from this and you disappeared again, just like you always did, Diego was done. He couldn’t keep fighting. He wouldn’t. Not after he’d lost so much.

Raking his thumb along your cheek, he held his breath as he watched you slowly stir awake. Holding his breath, he felt you stretch out those long legs he’d dreamt about his entire adult life. He’d felt them around his waist, splayed out across his shoulders, felt them twitch and tremble on account of his touch. He loved those legs, _fuck_ , he loved every part of you and yet as he felt them brush against his naked thighs, all he could focus on were your eyes. He needed you to open your eyes, he needed you to see him, to see the desperation written out across his face.

Slowly, _much_ too slowly for his liking, those stunning eyes he’d gotten lost in many times before, opened up to the world around you. Unlike his own, they weren’t cloudy or confused. They were bright. They were happy.

“Please tell me this is real,” Diego pleaded. His voice was still thick with exhaustion and weathered from dehydration, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was your answer.

Your lips pulled up into a gentle smile, one that made his heart jump into his throat. “Hey, Diego,” you laughed and reached out to trace your thumbnail along his lips. “Long time, huh?”

Something in between a disbelieving laugh and a choked sob tore out of his throat as Diego pulled you into him. His arms, like towers, held you as close as humanly possible despite the raging pain from the stab wound. “How?” He asked, his eyes wide. Not waiting for an answer, his lips ghosted across your face. He kissed the tip of your nose, your forehead, each kiss becoming all the more frenzied before pulling back to peer at your face again. “Wait, we agreed you were real, right?”

You laughed again and gently pushed him back down. “As real as that stab wound, idiot. Lay back and sit still or this little reunion is going to be short lived if you bleed out on me.”

_Ah,_ that mouth. That cheeky lip you’d give him at every turn. _Yes_ , this was definitely the real you.

But he didn’t listen. How could he? You were _here_. _With_ _him_. In the flesh. There was no way in hell he could just sit still when he finally had you back. “Fuck that,” he groused, turning onto his side. Sure enough, white hot pain shot through his entire body from his hasty crusade which earned him nothing more than your infamous ‘ _I told you so’_ eyebrow raise before gently pushing him back down on the bed.

“Relax,” you chided. “As the uninjured party, _I_ can move. _You_ sit still.”

Doing as he was told for the first time in his life, Diego allowed you to steer his head back down to the pillow, but his eyes remained glued on you. “Then get down here and kiss me.”

“Bossy,” you remarked, scooting your body down to lay beside him. With your face only inches away now, a tiny grin enveloped your features as you kissed up his neck and along his jaw before finally hovering above his lips where he met you in slow, gentle kiss. The kiss was soft, so much softer than either of you were used to, but the necessity of it was not lost on either of you. His hands were buried in your hair, tugging you closer and closer into him as though he’d lose you any minute, and despite knowing how injured he was, you still found yourself climbing on top of him. Straddling his lap, being mindful of the gaping hole on his abdomen, your kisses became all the more deliberate. Not as gentle and careful as they were moments prior, they became more and more passionate.

You were making up for lost time and getting to know each other all over again. It was a strange and mangled cycle the two of you had been caught in for your entire adult lives, but none of that mattered in that room. It was just you and him. No one else, _nothing_ else, was going to come in the way of that.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the pinafore dress you still had on further and further up until it was gathered around your waist. Neither of you were wasting any time, it seemed, which suited you just fine. You both wanted each other, _needed_ each other.

Your dress was halfway up your body when three knocks sounded from the door.

Both of you froze, holding your breaths collectively in hopes that whoever was on the other side would assume you were still sleeping. But when a few more knocks sounded, followed by Lila’s familiar English accent, you knew you’d been had. “You two fucking or can I come in?”

Slinking off of Diego’s lap, you swooped down to give him one final haphazard kiss before tugging the remainder of your dress down to cover yourself back up. “Pillow,” you mouthed, pointing to the very obvious erection currently making a tent in the thin bedsheets.

Diego groaned and carefully stacked a pillow on top of his lap before giving you a gentle nod to signal it was safe to open the door. Throwing open the door, you offered Lila a small, tight smile. “Hey, Lila,” you gestured to Diego, “Sleeping Beauty’s up.”

“About time,” she grumbled, stepping into the room without second thought. “I wanted to check to see how you were. Seeing as how your own father shanked you less than twelve hours ago.”

“I’m going to make some coffee,” you told them, sensing the pair needed a moment to themselves. “You guys want any?”

“You don’t have to go, I—” Diego began to say.

“I’d love one,” Lila countered, shooting you a wink. “Thanks, poppet.”

Nodding, you slipped out of the room only to find a man who you could only assume was Elliott tinkering around with some jelly. When he heard the _clip clap_ of your boots, he peered across the kitchen and offered you a small smile. “You must be number two.”

You blinked and looked over your shoulder to ensure it was, in fact, you he was referring to. “Uh, number eight, actually, but I usually go by Y/N.”

The man seemed confused but that friendly smile never left his fact. “No, no, you were the second one,” he explained. “You landed in March of ’61. You were the second one here. Number two.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, walking towards the coffee maker. “I didn’t know anyone saw that.”

He smiled. “I see a lot of things,” he admitted proudly. “In fact, your brother and I have been working together the last couple of days. He trusts me.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the man’s giddiness when it came to you and your siblings. “He must,” you admitted with a wink. “Thanks for letting us stay here, by the way. But, if it’s too much hassle or we’re putting you out, I have my own place on the other side of town. Just say the word and—”

“Oh, _no,_ ” he waved off the suggestion immediately, “it’s no trouble, at all. Don’t be silly.” Finishing up with the jelly mould he’d been working on, he gestured towards it and grinned. “Want to try a piece?”

Pouring a cup of coffee for Lila, Diego and one for the man currently smiling across at you, you politely declined and, instead, offered him a cup. “Here, you probably need this more than I do for dealing with all of us under one roof.”

Elliott seemed touched and gratefully took the piping hot cup out of your hands before nodding. “Thank-you,” he beamed.

Giving him a small smile as you walked out of the kitchen, you were careful not to spill the coffee as you walked back to the room housing Diego and Lila. You weren’t sure _what_ it was between them, but you knew there was something. Whether it was one-sided or not, there were feelings involved and no matter how much you might have missed the man, you weren’t about to shit on that.

When you arrived back in the bedroom, Lila was sitting on the edge of the bed talking about needing more bandages for his wound whilst Diego watched your every move.

Handing off a cup to Lila, you placed Diego’s on the nightstand before nodding towards the headboard. “Let’s get you somewhat vertical.”

You were met with a low grunt from the man. “I can do it myself.”

Ignoring the machismo practically pouring out of Diego, you fought the urge to roll your eyes and gently grabbed his arm. “The tough guy act is going to get you nowhere,” you smirked across at him and raised your eyebrow. “Ready?”

Your answer came in the form of Diego stubbornly rolling his eyes before allowing you help him into the new position. A brusque groan rumbled in his chest as he slowly moved along the bed followed by a long, anguished sigh as he finally fell into place. “Happy? You fuckin’ monster.”

“Elated,” you shot him a wry grin and handed him the cup. “Here’s your prize.”

Lila watched the two of you with an indecipherable expression on her face. “Right,” she muttered, more so to herself. “I’m going to run some errands. Get some things.”

“Errands?” You asked curiously. “Did you want company? Honestly, I saw what Elliott was making for dinner, I don’t mind joining you to get some groceries to fall back on.”

Lila stood up. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? I don’t—”

“I’m a big girl,” she affirmed. “I wouldn’t want to further disrupt whatever incestuous act I nearly walked in on earlier.”

Both you and Diego froze at the suggestion. Grimacing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Gross, it’s not like that.”

“We’re not,” Diego gestured between you, “ _really_ siblings. We’re not related.”

“ _God,_ no,” you uttered. “It’s…well, it’s…complicated.”

“ _So_ fucking complicated,” Diego squeaked.

Lila continued to stand there blinking down at the two of you for a few seconds before downing the rest of her coffee. “Jesus, that was painful to watch,” she muttered. “I’ll be back later.”

Diego sighed and allowed his head to fall back against the headboard with a _thud_. “She shouldn’t be out there alone.” He mumbled guiltily.

“Do you want me to follow her?” You asked after a beat.

“No,” Diego reached across the divide and placed his calloused slender hand on your own. “You’re staying put.”

Cocking an eyebrow up at him, you smirked. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

Diego’s warm brown eyes were soaking you in for what felt like hours before he slowly pushed himself off of the headboard. Wincing, he leaned forward so that his chin ghosted against your shoulder. “I’m sure,” he kissed your shoulder, “I’ve spent the last three months convincing myself that I’d never see you again. But, here you are.” Those beautiful brown eyes searched yours as he placed another gentle kiss on your shoulder. “And I’m not done looking at you just yet.” 

A warm smile tugged at your lips at the sincerity bleeding out of those eyes but it was his words that resonated. “Wait, three months?”

“Three months,” he winced again as he leaned back against the headboard. “Two and a half of which were spent in a mental hospital which is as fun as it sounds, I promise.” Checking the bandage for any sign of fresh blood, he exhaled and looked back at you. “How about you? When did you land? ‘Cause I tried finding you, and Y/N Hargreeves was nowhere to be found.”

Kicking off your boots, you sat facing him cross-legged on the bed. “That’s because Y/N Hargreeves doesn’t exist in nineteen-sixty-three. Y/N _Smith_ , on the other hand, does.” You picked at the sheet separating you. “I got here in March.”

He seemed surprised. “You’ve been here for seven months?”

You offered him a tight smile. “Of nineteen-sixty-one.”

You watched Diego’s face fall as his previous shock melted away into utter dismay. “ _Nineteen-sixty-one_ ,” he repeated, dumbfounded. “Two years?”

“Two and a half long years,” you admitted. “Most of which I spent assuming you were all dead or dispersed through time and space.”

Diego was speechless. Sure, you looked a little older but certainly not enough for him to assume you’d been stuck in the sixties for almost three whole years. Allowing his eyes to rake over your face again, he took in every minor detail – some old, some new – and swallowed hard. The scar, as small as it was, was definitely a new addition to that beautiful face, as were a couple of freckles smattered along your cheekbones. But the most drastic change was, by far, the shadows that seemed to line those stunning eyes. You looked tired. The kind of tired that no amount of sleep would cure.

Reaching out to grasp the hand still picking away at the comforter, Diego gave it a squeeze and shook his head. “What the hell have you been doing for the last two and a half years?”

A mangled laugh escaped your lips. “Nothing to write home about, that’s for sure.”

He shrugged. “Tell me, anyway.”

You attempted a small smile, but it felt garbled on your lips. “I landed here with no I.D., no references, not a cent to my name. No family, _nothing._ For the first few months I searched for you guys, but nothing ever turned up. I wasn’t cut out for burglary or pickpocketing which I learned early on as I am _insanely_ bad at it. So, I had to get a job.”

Diego watched your every move. He knew you well enough to know when you were anxious. Your hands got fidgety and you avoided eye-contact at all costs. For a woman with enough power inside of her to take down an entire city block if you wanted to, it was _this_ version of you – this raw, unedited version – that teenage Diego fell for. Squeezing your hand again, Diego offered a silent gesture of assurance before clearing his throat. “Go on.”

“Diego,” you laughed awkwardly, “this isn’t a Hallmark Channel story.”

“No,” he agreed, “but it’s yours. Lighten your load a little, kid.”

You thought over your next sentence in your head in an attempt to try and gauge what kind of reaction you were going to get. You weren’t ashamed at what you had to do to survive in a world entirely new to you, but after nearly three years of seeing the disgust and judgement written on the faces of those who knew about your profession – both men and women alike – it was hard not dragging that sort of baggage around. Squaring your shoulders, you licked your lips and let out a tiny breath. “I needed money. I needed an apartment and food in my stomach and a means of surviving, so I became a dancer.” You cleared your throat. “A stripper.”

For a few long minutes, Diego remained silent. You were torn between watching his eyes scrape across your face and the length of your body and staring holes into the headboard. You could feel your hand clam up in his, but when you motioned to pull back, the grip he had on you only tightened. Slowly, you dragged your eyes up to catch his curious stare.

“Huh.” Was all he said.

You furrowed your brow. “‘ _Huh’_?” You repeated. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He cocked his head to the side as if to get a better look at you. “I just remember you being a pretty awful dancer,” he teased, but his face remained as composed as ever. “You were terrible, to be honest.”

You gawked across at him but the smile that began to pull at your lips was persistent. “Are you kidding me right now? I tell you I’ve been stripping for the last however many years and you criticize my dancing?”

Amusement lit up his features. “You underestimate just how bad you were.” You moved to smack him but he caught your hand in his and, despite the pain radiating from his abdomen, managed to pull you towards him. “Simmer down, Sparky,” he grumbled. “Lay down with me.”

Obliging with a small smile on your face, you positioned yourself directly against him so that your head was laying on his chest while his arms encircled you. You could feel him playing with a few strands of your hair as the two of you sat in contemplative silence. “What are you thinking?” You finally asked after the silence became too much.

“I’m thinking,” he began, twirling a strand around in his fingers, “that you did what you had to do to survive here. And if you thought, for a second, that I’d judge you for that then you’re a dumb ass.”

You snorted against his chest. “Fuck you.”

“I’m serious,” he chided, “the fuck kind of response did you think you’d get out of me? Granted, the ‘dancing’ part threw me for a loop. _Whatever_ it is you do when music starts shouldn’t be considered dancing.”

You smacked the bandage on his stomach, earning a pained groan from Diego. “You’re no Fred Astaire, dick.”

His chest rumbled in silent laughter. “Better than you.”

You peeled your head off of his chest to give him a glare. “You actually believe that?”

“Honey, I _know_ it.” He playfully pushed your head back down on his chest. “You still didn’t explain why you chose the name _Smith_ ,” he reminded you. “Or how you ended up with that scar on your cheek.”

You hummed. “Smith was generic. Do you know how many Smith’s there are in the phonebook? Plus, I didn’t feel like being a Hargreeves. The idea of being the last Hargreeves left felt horrifying. Our childhood was so royally fucked up, Diego. I mean, I know you know that, but it was all I could do to think about it night after night. He groomed us into these machines, not caring how much he broke us in order to get there. He ruined us. Ruined any chance at normalcy. Ruined any semblance of a healthy, lasting relationship. He fucked us.” You began to draw tiny circles into the exposed skin of his stomach. “Anyway, the thought of having all of that in my head, being the last of us left to bear the weight of that alone was just too much. So, _Smith_ , it was.”

A long, deep sigh reverberated through his chest. “You want to talk fucked? Dad shanked me twelve hours ago.”

You smiled into his chest. “The cherry on the cake.”

His hand trailed down from your hair to the small scar on your cheek. “And this?”

“Workplace hazard,” you admitted. “Some drunk rich guy got a little mouthy with one of the other girls. I had a few choice words for him, he had one hell of a backhand for me. His ring left a nice little memento.”

You could feel Diego’s heartbeat quicken in his chest. “I hope you lit that fucker up.”

“Nah,” you tittered, “his car on the other hand? That was a job for _The Match_.”

Diego squeezed you into him. “That’s my girl.”

“How about you?” You asked. “How’d you end up in the mental hospital?”

As it turned out, that question warranted one _hell_ of an answer out of the man beneath you. From showing up at Lee Harvey Oswald’s house with a jacket full of knives to his hospital stay and _everything_ in between, it appeared that both of you led one hell of a life away from the twenty-first century. There was still a question burning in the back of your throat as you listened to him rattle on about his final escape, however.

“And Lila?” You managed to ask. “Where does she fall into all of this?”

Diego shrugged. “We’re friends, I guess. She helped me escape in a way, I owe her for that.”

You careened your head off of his chest to peer up at him. “She has feelings for you.” It wasn’t a question by any means, but you wanted to gauge his reaction. “A mystery considering you currently look like the fifth member of The Beatles with that hair, but a fact.”

Diego flicked your ear but remained focused in on your observation. “She’s just a friend.” He affirmed.

“Diego,” your eyes softened, “If there’s something between you guys, that’s normal. I was a non-factor before any of this happened and _especially_ now, with everything turned on its head, I—”

You were cut off by the sound of his derisive laughter. “A _non-factor_?” He asked. “Y/N, you have _never_ been a non-factor for me. That’s our problem.”

You dramatically allowed your head to fall back onto his chest. “My _point_ , before I was rudely interrupted, was that if there’s any feelings festering there just let me know. I’ve backed off before and I’ll do it again.”

“Hey,” Diego’s tone was low but forceful. “Look at me.”

“Diego, don’t be dram—”

“Look at me.”

With a huff, you rolled your eyes and once again peered up at him. His brows were puckered and the lines across his forehead made the severity of his gaze all the more real. “I just spent the last three months kicking myself for not kissing you that night at the bowling alley. I spent seventy-six days hating myself for wasting the years we had together. I’ve fucked up in the past, so have you. But I just got you back. And if you think for a second that I’m going to make that same mistake again, you’re brain dead.”

You made a face. “Way to turn that into an insult, dick.”

He gently grabbed your chin. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

The honesty in his gaze was almost overwhelming. “I believe you,” you said, “but I’ve also been where she is and it’s a shitty feeling watching someone you care about dote over somebody else.”

“She understands,” Diego argued. “Anyone would.”

“Understanding and coping don’t come hand in hand,” you mumbled. “I just think, to be fair to her, we don’t push this on her. There’re feelings on her end and I’m not about to step on the woman’s toes. Not when she was as big of factor of _your_ survival these last couple of months as she was.” 

“Fine,” Diego grumbled.

“Thank-you,” you purred with a grin. “In the meantime, you should rest up.”

“Not on your life,” he scoffed, “we’ve got almost three years between us of catching up to do.”

Smirking, you leaned up and gave him a quick, chaste kiss. “Exactly why I need you to rest up,” you whirred with a wink. “I’ll need you a little bit spryer for that.”

He grinned suggestively and kissed you again. “Honey, I’m good to go now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your fingernails began to claw their way down his chest.

“Yeah,” his voice was gruff. “I’m a well-oiled machine.”

Without missing a beat, you applied some pressure to his wound and watched any and all arousal slip off of his face. He crumbled like a deck of cards. “Hmm,” you hummed, “not likely. Now, rest.”

Muttering a string of expletives beneath his breath, he sank back down on the mattress and glowered up at the ceiling. “I’m holding you to that later.”

Once again, you grinned into his chest before giving it a quick kiss. “I hope you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for being so kind with your words and giving this fic some love it's greatly appreciated babes. 
> 
> Also, I promise it won’t be all sunshine + daisies from here on out but we needed a true reunion hence the fluff. I'm excited for you guys to read how Lila and the other Hargreeves all play into this. 
> 
> ***also, the next chapter will include smut.


	5. FIVE | TOUCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut warning ahead (towards ending of chapter if you want to skip)

Frustration marred your face as you trudged back into the bedroom later that evening. Irritation pinched your brow and those lips, the same ones he’d been kissing earlier that morning, were drawn into a thin, hard line as you balanced a plate of food in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Five already driving you nuts or are you just _that_ happy to see me?” Diego quipped, doing his best to push himself further up the headboard.

His answer came in the form of a quiet grunt as you set his dinner down on the bedside table. “Five,” was all you said, putting the glass of water down with too much force that a few drops splashed out of the top. “ _Fuck_.”

“What’d he do, now?” He asked with a small smirk, eyeing the jellified food on the plate. “The hell is that?”

“ _That_ is your dinner,” you told him, “and he’s just being a dick, as per the usual. The imminent apocalypse makes the cranky old man in him really shine.”

Diego’s eyes were still glued to the wobbly mess on his plate. “What is it?”

You waved him off and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “It’s sustenance, is what it is. So, eat it.”

Diego’s brown eyes were wide as saucers as he peered back at you. “No.”

You raised a single brow. “ _Yes_ ,” you pushed, “you were stabbed last night and haven’t eaten a damned thing today. Eat it.”

“It’s Jell-O,” Diego complained, pushing the concoction around the plate. Grimacing, he narrowed his eyes in on a particular piece of food and swore under his breath. “Is that a piece of cheese?”

“Yes,” you told him, “it tastes just as horrific as it looks, but you need to eat.”

Any and all appetite Diego had felt fell through the cracks of the hardwood floor beneath him. “Yeah, that’s a hard no.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes and dramatically fell against the bed. “Starve to death, then.”

Frowning, Diego slowly lulled his head to look down at you and frowned. “What’s your problem?”

A long, heavy sigh escaped through your lips before you turned your focus on Diego. “Sorry,” you muttered. “I had plans to help Five get Luther or Vanya on board but with Lila still gone and Elliott doing as much as he is already, I told Five I should stay here and he flipped his lid.”

“Lila’s still not back yet?” He asked in confusion. “What time is it?”

“Half past nine. I looked around the neighbourhood for a bit while you were out, but I can’t find her.” You grabbed the pillow beneath your head and covered your face with it. “I knew I should have gone with her.”

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of stomach as he mulled over your words. As far as he was concerned, she _seemed_ to know how to take care of herself, but it was the foreboding _what if_ that made him recoil. Anything could have happened to her whilst she was out there getting _him_ bandages. With a sigh, he peeled back the pillow covering your face and cocked his head to the side. “If I know Lila, she’s probably stealing a bunch of stupid shit. She’ll be back in no time.”

“Yeah, the concerned pucker of your brow,” you poked his forehead, “doesn’t really sell your whole confidence spiel.” Tossing the pillow away, you pushed yourself up and nodded to the plate. “Eat. By the time I get back, the jelly better be gone.”

“Where’re you going?” He asked, ignoring the latter half of your sentence.

“I’m going to find Lila,” you simply said. “Eat.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he reached for your hand and gently tugged you back. “You’re not going out there alone.”

You scoffed. “Diego, it’s nineteen-sixty-three and I can conjure fire from my hands, I think I can manage. I’ve done okay for the last few years.”

Ambling himself off the bed, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his feeble attempts before carefully pushing him back down onto the stiff mattress. The pained groan that escaped his lips made you smile. “ _Wow_ , you’re right. One look at Superman over here will send the crooks running.”

“Fuck you,” he huffed out.

“Hopefully later if you eat your goddamn dinner.” You smirked. “Rest and eat. I’ll be back in a bit. Hopefully with Lila in tow.”

As if on cue, Lila’s sing-song voice cut through the loft as she made her way up the stairs. With raised brows, you and Diego shared a brief look before her familiar face popped into the door frame. “Ah, good. You’re both decent.” Pushing the door open, she tossed a few boxes of sterile bandages on the bed and flopped down beside Diego. “I come bearing gifts.”

Once again, you felt like somewhat of an outsider looking in as Lila poked around his bandage, ignoring you totally as Diego helplessly eyed you for help. “Easy, Lila,” he hissed, “where the hell have you been?”

Lila blinked as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I told you where I was going before I left, idiot. You needed fresh bandages, I delivered.”

“For six hours?” Diego asked.

Lila shrugged. “Fancied myself a walk,” she ripped off the old bandage, ignoring Diego’s obvious discomfort. “You owe me for these, by the way.” A cat-like grin enveloped her features. “Well, you would if I’d actually paid for them.”

“There’s leftover dinner in the fridge,” you told her, watching as she replaced his bandage. “It’s awful, but it’s something, at least. Can I get you any?”

“I ate while I was out,” Lila said without looking up, “thanks though.”

Nodding your head, you managed to catch Diego’s eye from across the room. He was clearly confused but remained silent as Lila finished bandaging him up. “Where did you go?” He tried again, this time a little gentler.

Looking up from the task at hand, Lila furrowed her brow and smiled. “Worried about me, were you?”

“Right,” you interjected, “there’s a burger joint a couple blocks down. Seeing as how you’re not eating what Elliott made, I’ll be back in, like, half hour with some food for you.”

“No,” Diego argued just as Lila applied some unnecessary pressure to the wound. A pained hiss tore out of his lips as he collapsed back down on the bed. “I don’t need anything,” he pushed out. “Stay.”

For the first time since she’d miraculously appeared, Lila looked up and caught your eye. There was an unspoken challenge there that hadn’t been there that morning, a threat. _Whatever_ had gotten into her whilst she was out on the town was enough to make you slightly nervous. You didn’t know _anything_ about Lila, asides from what Diego had told you, and even his knowledge of the woman seemed to be only what she’d provided in their group therapy sessions.

Five’s voice was in the back of your head as you matched her stare. He was adamant about keeping the woman at arm’s length. There was _something_ about her that he didn’t trust, didn’t like, and up until now you’d been quick to brush his uncertainties under the rug. But as you watched the corners of her lips tug up into a roguish smirk, you weren’t so sure.

“Don’t worry, poppet,” Lila cooed, sliding her hand further down Diego’s chest, “our boy here is in good hands.”

Ignoring Diego’s obvious confusion, you smacked on what you only hoped was a convincing smile before nodding towards the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

You left the room, ignoring Diego yet again as he attempted to stop you, before walking out of the old building. The cool night air welcomed you as you made your way down the street, blanketing you in the cool November chill. The street was quiet, as it always was come sundown, save for a few rowdy men that were filtering in and out of the local strip club. It wasn’t _your_ club, but you knew of it, knew some of the women working inside, and immediately felt your stomach tighten. Forty-eight hours ago, you were in their shoes; dancing and stripping for your next meal, for a roof over your head. It had been a weight on your chest, weighing heavy on you every moment of the day, for the last two and a half years.

But tonight, as you walked through the group of heavily boozed up men, there was a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there in years. You were free of that life, now. _Sure_ , there was another impending apocalypse that you and your family had to stop yet again – but you could deal with that. You’d done the whole apocalypse thing before and, while it may not have worked out the first time around, you had a good feeling about this one.

With a little extra _pep_ in your step, you found yourself smiling all the way to the burger shack. It was a short enough walk and the young teenage boy working the cash desk was nice enough to throw in a few extra fries – something you were definitely going to snack on whilst walking back to the loft – and before you knew it, you were making your way back down the quiet street.

The burger smelt divine as its grease bled through the bag but before you could reach into oily mess to steal yet another fry, the sound of footsteps coming up from behind you tore you out of your reverie. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed a man walking a few paces behind you. He had blonde, almost white hair, and wore a long, dark trench coat that seemed just a little of place in nineteen-sixty-three. Blinking, you turned back around and mulled over just how long it would take you to get back to the loft if you made a run for it. Something about the man was off-putting. Maybe it was the fact he looked like he walked out of an IKEA catalogue in the middle of the sixties or maybe it was the determined pucker of his brow as he watched your every move, _something_ didn’t feel right to you.

So, you quickened your pace and listened for the man’s foot falls to follow. Sure enough, they were keeping up with yours only now, there seemed to be more of them. With another look over your shoulder, your stomach fell upon noticing the blonde man was now accompanied by another tall, blonde goon.

_Shit_ , you swung your head back around only to be stopped dead in your tracks. A third, and – and hopefully, for you – _final_ member of their little gang had appeared before you, standing less than fifteen feet away. He was wielding a large shotgun and a creepy, sadistic smile as he pointed the nozzle of the gun at you. With a yelp, you dove into the alley just as the shot rang out. The blast narrowly missed you as you dove for the ground, crawling out of the way just in time to slink behind the dumpster.

The shots were continuous and _loud_ as they ricochet all around you. Sparks flew up in all directions as you searched for a way out of this _incredibly_ shitty situation. There was a fire escape a good twelve feet to your left that could get you on the roof of the building beside you but the chances of you getting there unscathed with all three of Scandinavia’s finest shooting at you was slim.

Still grasping onto the burger bag, you tucked it under your arm and focused in on that fire in your belly. If you could conjure up enough of a spark, you could take all three of them down but with their bullets unloading all around you, that focus you needed was becoming increasingly harder to attain.

“Shit, shit, _shit,”_ you hissed, holding out your hand in hopes of feeling that familiar prickle. But, when none came, your panic only grew.

Looking back at the fire escape, you groaned and got ready to run when Five suddenly appeared before you.

“Ah, you’ve met the IKEA mob, I see.”

Latching onto his arm, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for him to jump the both of you out of dodge. Thankfully, he didn’t wait a second longer before you felt the world around you quiver out of your grasp for a mere second before landing on the cold, hard ground of Elliott’s loft.

Your stomach lurched as your body attempted to make sense of the jump it had just endured, but it was the spinning of your head that made you most sick. Groaning, you flopped down and splayed your arms and legs out like a starfish. “Thank-you,” you choked breathlessly, nodding at Five.

He hummed his displeasure and took a seat on the nearest chair just as Diego ambled out of the bedroom. At first, he didn’t seem to see you sprawled out on the floor, but the second his brown eyes caught sight of you, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “The hell happened?”

Five clicked his tongue. “Y/N over here met those blonde goons we’ve all become so acquainted with as of late.”

Diego’s eyes widened and, despite Lila’s telling him to sit down, he hobbled into the living room and peered down at you. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you sighed, still trying to blink away the dizziness. “Here’s your fucking burger.” You chucked the mangled bag up at him as you slowly pulled yourself up into a seated position. Deciding that was too much for you, you bowed your head between your knees and groaned again. “Better be the best burger you’ve ever had in your life.”

“Oh, so while I was wrangling up _our_ siblings, you were on a burger run?” Five scoffed. “The complete lack of aptitude in this family should shock me by now, but here I am. Disappointed but not surprised.” He leaned forward to capture Diego’s confused stare and the top of your head as you continued to quell your nausea. “What part of _imminent apocalypse_ does this family not understand?”

Ignoring Five completely, Diego took a seat on the couch you were currently leaning on and nudged you with his knee. “What happened?”

“I was walking back here and those guys just started shooting at me,” you explained, lulling your head back to peer up at him. “I hid behind a dumpster and Five thankfully found me.”

“ _Thankfully_ ,” Five laughed bitterly, “yes, _thankfully_ I’m the only one in this god-forsaken family smart enough to keep tabs on the very people who can stop what’s about to happen in eight days.”

“Oh, small man is mad,” Lila quipped with a smirk. “You’re in _trouble_.” She sang.

With as little interest as possible, Five glanced across at the woman briefly before looking back at Diego. “She’s still here?”

“Yeah, Five, she’s still here,” Diego seethed, “and this one just had three assholes shooting at her four seconds ago so do you think you could cool it with the heartless dickhead act for a minute?”

“No,” Five shrugged, “I’m the only one that is taking this whole thing seriously. You’re in here sleeping—”

“I was stabbed, asshole,” Diego quipped.

“—Y/N is hunkered down in here with you instead of helping me find our siblings because _she,”_ he stabbed a finger in Lila’s direction, “disappears for the whole afternoon and has the _audacity_ to come back after contributing nothing to this situation.”

“Stop yelling,” you grumbled, looking at Five’s angry frame. “My head’s killing me from that jump, let’s all calm down for half of a second. Please?” An angry, bitter silence followed your words as you focused in on the ground before you. “What happened to Luther and Vanya?”

Five rolled his eyes. “Luther did what Luther does best – ignore the situation until it, inevitably, blows up at him - and Vanya found out that _she_ was, in fact, the one who started the last apocalypse and is now taking the high road.”

You frowned. “What do you mean _found out_?”

“She has no memory of what happened before she landed here,” he admitted dejectedly.

“Nothing?” You asked in surprise.

“Not a damned thing,” Five sighed. “I was trying to keep the fact that she caused the moon to crash against earth, inevitably resulting in its demise, but good ol’ Luther told her everything.”

“Shit,” you ran a hand through your hair. “Okay, so not the best start, but we can salvage this.”

Five laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. And how do you intend on making that happen?”

“Easy,” you shrugged, “I’ll go talk to them.”

“I already told you,” Five groused, “I tried, and they—”

“Exactly,” you muttered, “ _you_ tried. _You_ , who is as personable as a vampire bat. I’ll go talk to them.”

Five mulled over your words with a sour expression on his face. “Fine,” he growled. “But first we need some answers from dad.”

You rolled your eyes. “Five, we’re going to get nothing from that asshole. He stabbed Diego, for god’s sake, what do you think he’s doing to do next time?”

Five glowered across at Diego. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten that he let him get away.”

Diego’s eyes widened. “He _stabbed_ me.”

“I’m surprised he waited that long, Diego,” Five shrugged, “we’ve all had the urge.”

“Be that as it may,” you interjected, ignoring Diego’s rather insulted expression. “He won’t help us. I think he’s made that clear.”

“You’re right,” Five admitted, “which is why _we_ go to him. Ambush him. Catch him off guard.” He threw an invitation down on the table. “I found this in his office.”

You reached for it but it was Lila that was able to snatch it up as she took a seat directly beside Diego. She was practically on top of his lap as she read over the invitation, but you heard nothing besides the own smoke steaming out of your ears. You _weren’t_ this person. You were never the jealous type, especially when it came to Diego, so _why_ did this irk you so much? Perhaps it was the time spent apart from the man you cherished to desperately or maybe it was the fact that _this_ version of Lila didn’t quite present herself the same way she had earlier. It was as though she’d come back from her little rendezvous with a plan of attack in the back of her mind. And just where you fell on the spectrum of friend or foe – you couldn’t quite decipher just yet.

Tuning back into the conversation that Elliott had since joined in on about Hoyt Hillenkoetter, a member of a secret committee of scientists called the Majestic Twelve, you listened in on the back and forth of each person in the room before Elliott supplied a picture of the group.

Letting your eyes scrape over the picture, Lila spoke the question that was on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m counting only eleven people.”

Diego looked at Elliott. “So, who is the twelfth?”

“Dear old daddy-kins, obviously,” you mumbled, leaning into the foot of the couch again. “I’ll give the man credit. He was a sneaky dick then and he’s a sneaky dickhead of a man now. At least he stays consistent.”

“So, we’re all in?” Five asked, glancing around the room. “We’re going to this thing?”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

“Me, too.” Diego agreed.

“They have a seafood platter,” Lila said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Five nodded and leaned back against the chair tiredly. “Everyone, rest up. Tomorrow, we get some answers.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“How was your burger?” You asked Diego later that night as the pair of you sat side by side on the bed.

He lulled his head lazily to face you. “Little cold,” he teased, “the delivery girl really shit the bed with that one.”

Grinning, you looked back up at the ceiling and laughed. “Yeah, well, she didn’t get a tip what do you expect?”

He carefully rolled onto his side and propped his head against his palm as his free hand lazily sprawled out across your middle. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” you told him with a casual shrug. “How’s your stab wound?”

He cracked a small smirk. “Better,” he mimicked. “So, if it’s not your head making you all quiet you want to tell me what is?”

You matched his stare for a moment before rolling onto your side. “A girl’s not allowed to just be quiet?”

“Not while she’s in bed with _me_ ,” he pinched your side, inciting a quiet yelp from you. Snuggling closer so that the two of you were practically nose to nose, he bumped his nose against yours and cocked a single eyebrow up in question. “What is it?”

You wanted to tell him the truth. That there was something a little off-putting about how Lila’s entire demeanour had changed since she’d come back from her little walk earlier that day, but you wouldn’t dare. He’d been getting enough shit from Five about his lack of trust in the woman and, despite your own reservations, you weren’t about to add to it. You’d meant what you had said. She _was_ a friend of his. She’d helped him escape, she’d helped him survive whilst locked up in that hellhole, so who were _you_ to shit on it? Maybe you _were_ overreacting. Maybe you _were_ a little jealous.

Whatever it is you were feeling, it wasn’t worth bringing up. Not when Diego was staring across at you with all of the tenderness and affection in the world.

A slow smile pulled at your lips. “I’m just _really_ ,” you pecked his lips, “ _really_ ,” another peck, “ _really_ mad that you didn’t even offer me a bite of that goddamn burger.” You laughed as he rolled back onto his back, uttering a dramatic ‘ _oh, here we go’_. “I mean, _really,_ Diego.” Crawling on top of his lap, you straddled his waist and placed a hand on either side of his head. “I dodged bullets to get that baby home to you and what do I get in return?”

He snaked his hands up your side. “Oh, you want something in return, huh?”

Catching that infamous little grin on his face, you leaned down so that your lips hovered over his. “I think it’s the least you could do.”

“Hmm,” he was grinning as he slid his calloused hands down the length of your body before stopping at the hem of your skirt. “I could think of a few ways to thank you.”

You could feel his erection through his jeans as you slowly wriggled your hips against him. “I’m listening.”

He slowly began to tug your skirt up your thighs. “The way I see it, is you have three repayment options.” Once your skirt was bunched up around your waist, those familiar fingers danced across the back of your thighs and gave your ass a firm squeeze. All this time and Diego Hargreeves was _still_ an ass man. “Option one,” his dept fingers slid down your legs again and nestled themselves between your thighs. Your pulse quickened as you felt him slide your panties to one side before feeling his middle finger gently coax into your folds before beginning his slow, _agonizingly slow_ , assault on your clit. “I can use my fingers.”

He captured your lips and quickened his pace ever so slightly as you moaned into his mouth. “Fuck, Diego,” you hissed, riding his hand.

“Option two,” with his free hand, he tugged the turtleneck off of your body and tossed it across the room. “And this goes for all areas of your body, not just these,” he pinched the clasp of your bra and watched your breasts through hungry, half-lidded eyes before raking his tongue across one of your nipples. “I can use my mouth.” Lightly biting down on the nipple, he used the momentum that came from you arching into his mouth to slip another finger inside of you.

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you relished in the feel of his hot tongue against you. He bit and suckled at your breasts, coaxing his tongue along the hardened bud of your nipple, he watched your eyes fall shut as your gyration on his hand became more and more frenzied. His cock was pulsing in his jeans and try as he may to focus on that, the image of you coming undone from the mere touch of his hand was enough to keep him focused on you and you alone.

You were close to the edge. You had been craving this, craving _him_ for so long that now that he was here – fingering you, pinching and circling your clit, all the while his mouth teased and bit at your breasts – your body didn’t know what to do. It was as though it was torn between savouring the feeling of being this close to climax, this close to _him_ , and allowing itself to wholly come undone.

That battle, however, was all for nought when Diego pinched your clit and bit down rather aggressively on your nipple all at once. Stars danced behind your eyes as you rode out your orgasm with Diego’s fingers tirelessly still working on your overly sensitive clit.

Once you’d all but had too much, you pulled his hand out from between your legs and leaned down to meet him in a bruising kiss. The kisses were sloppy and hungry and gentle and tender all at once. You were both making up for so much lost time, _too_ much lost time, that no amount of anything was enough.

Once you’d managed to separate long enough to tug his jeans down his muscled thighs and calves, you caught Diego’s warm brown eyes from where you sat, perched on the bed. “You don’t want to hear option three?” He asked gruffly.

Your eyes fell to his throbbing erection. Your nipples hardened at the sight of him and the raw, primal need that pooled between your legs was enough of an answer for you. Climbing on top of the man, you hovered just above his cock and slid it between your wet folds. You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat at the anticipation of _finally_ being inside of you after all this time, but before you lowered yourself on to him, you reached for his hand and steered it up towards your lips. Kissing each knuckle, you kept your eyes on him before slipping his finger inside of your mouth. The pulse point in his wrist jolted to life as your tongue swirled around his finger. “You can show me option three tomorrow,” you purred, removing his finger to guide his hands back down towards your breasts. Arching into his palms, you finally lowered yourself onto his awaiting cock and gasped. _Fuck_ , he felt just as good as you remembered. “But right _now_ , I just need to feel you. _All_ of you.”

His answer came in the form of another penetrating kiss. He met your every bounce with a thrust so deep, so primitive, it left you breathless. _Fuck,_ he felt so good inside of you. All at once, your bodies found a perfect rhythm. He was _so_ close to you. Despite his injury, he’d positioned himself against the headboard to ensure the pair of you were as close as humanly possible. Your foreheads touched, your noses bumped and every few seconds his lips would find yours, kissing you senseless.

You couldn’t count how many times the pair of you had fucked in your lifetime. But _this_ time felt different. It was slower, it was softer. More measured. It was as though you were both trying to remember every single aspect of the experience. Memorize every inch of each other’s skin, every soft touch, every hushed moan.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Diego rasped out, pebbling kisses along your neck and shoulder. His voice was thick with emotion as he stilled your hips just long enough to ensure he caught your eye. “So fucking much.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity of his gaze but, not exactly trusting the emotion of your voice, your answer came in the form of a long, soft, tender kiss. God knows you missed him, too. And now that you had him back, you weren’t going to let something as trivial as the looming nuclear war stand in the way of that.

You weren’t going to lose Diego again. You couldn’t.

So, that only meant one thing.

You had to stop the goddamn apocalypse.

_Again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how are yall liking it?? thank you sO much to everyone giving feedback on here and on Tumblr I love you guys so much thank you xxx


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